The Nine Lives of Munkustrap
by anonymousauthor406
Summary: Years after being banished, Macavity has finally returned to punish the Jellicles by putting an end to their leader. When his plans to end each of Munkustrap's nine lives go awry, he's forced to resort to... less conventional... ways of bringing about the tabby's demise.
1. Forward

It is commonly known that we cats have nine lives. Nine chances to die. I have long waited for the moment when I could finally say that Munkustrap, leader of that pathetic tribe known as the "Jellicles," was dead by my paw. Not just that he'd been killed, but that he was truly dead, all nine of his lives expended. With him gone there is nothing to stop me from finishing off the rest of their pathetic little tribe, from destroying their precious little junkyard.

They banished me from them long ago, for crimes now only remembered by a select few. They tore me from my daughters, my daughters Bombalurina and Demeter who grew up with only the legends of their father. I swore that day, that day they sent me away, that I would have my vengeance. That I would make that miserable fool Munkustrap and his pompous windbag of a father Deuteronomy pay for what they did to me.

My vengeance is finally complete. Munkustrap is dead, and dead by my paw. The tribe that Deuteronomy prided himself on leading is in shambles. They sleep in fear, wondering who will be the next to die.

That is a decision for another day, though. Today is an opportunity for me to revel in my victory. To delight in the demise of Munkustrap.


	2. The First Life

The first of his deaths was to be my masterpiece. I'd planned every last detail, timed everything perfectly. I knew my plan would strike fear into the hearts of every last one of those deplorable Jellicles. How could it not? Wouldn't you be terrified if you saw your protector's mutilated corpse left on display?

The plan was perfect. I'd been studying his night patrol for weeks, lurking in the shadows, learning every move he made, every place he'd pause, every place he'd forget to check. By the time I determined that I was ready I knew the route even better than he did. Some nights I'd even just go straight to one of his blind spots, just because I knew exactly when he'd be there.

After all those nights of research, quietly stalking Munkustrap through the junkyard, biding my time, and waiting for just the right moment. The moment when I'd leap from the shadows, pouncing on him, tackling him to the ground before digging my claws into his throat. Sure, I'd want to savor it more, play with my meal before eating it, but I wouldn't want to let him scream would I? So I'd rip his throat out and bathe in his blood before desiccating his corpse, making sure the whole tribe knew who'd done this to him and that I had no intention of stopping until I'd ended every last one of his worthless lives.

The spot I'd chosen was perfect. It was just at the entrance to the main clearing where they'd gather to dance and do whatever the hell else they wasted their days on. I was hidden behind a large pile of junk, waiting for my prey, inhaling the invigorating night air, savoring the anticipation, the thrill of the kill.

* * *

Munkustrap went about his patrol as usual, surveying the clearing as he always did. Everything appeared as usual, nothing out of place, not a sound but the whistle of the wind over the piles of junk. As he walked, though, he couldn't help but feel a sense of grim trepidation, that something was different about that night. He dismissed the feeling as paranoia, the result of too many nights spent worrying about an attack by Macavity. His role as protector was a hard one, and it had taken a toll on him. He would toss and turn as he slept; frequently tossing himself all the way out of bed and startling himself awake as he hit the floor. He'd find himself pouring honey into a cup that had no tea in it. He couldn't perform properly any more. His dancing and singing were suffering too.

But it was worth it to keep the tribe safe. He'd once fought off a pollicle that had escaped its owner's handbag, and he'd even saved Mistoffelees when the tux had knocked over a candle and set the curtains on fire. Yes, he'd run in their bravely, pulling the conjuror out of the way of the blaze. The fool had though he could save his den by throwing some water on the curtains, but Munkustrap could see that it was just wishful thinking, and that the den was lost already. Suffice to say, he was a damn good protector if he did say so himself.

Munkustrap paused as he reached the entrance to the clearing, sniffing at the air. There was definitely something different tonight, a scent that was foreign, yet familiar. A scent he knew, but couldn't place. He walked over to the junk pile it was coming from, digging through his memory to place the scent. Had Demeter been there, she would've been panicking, screaming that it was her father there to exact his revenge. Munkustrap smiled to himself. He loved his mate, but sometimes she could be such a fool, thinking that her father would come back after all this time to take revenge on them. He'd been banished long ago. He wouldn't come back after being banished. He knew he wasn't welcome.

Munkustrap looked up at the towering pile of junk reaching up into the sky above him. He'd have to warn the kittens about playing near it – it seemed awfully unsteady. One of them could get hurt if they weren't careful around it. As he drew nearer and nearer the scent grew stronger and stronger, yet he still couldn't place it.

When he was finally standing at the base of it he began rooting around in the junk, trying to find the source of the scent. He tossed things about rather unceremoniously, growing more and more frustrated at not finding the source of the scent. Soon, he came across something that was truly stuck, buried under the pile of junk. The scent was growing stronger though, and he'd be damned if he didn't figure out what in the hell it was he was smelling. He fought to pull the item free, not knowing quite what it was since his sight was obscured slightly by the pile of junk he was reaching into. An odd creaking sound filled his ears as he pulled on the mystery item, but he quickly wrote it off as nothing but the wind. Wasn't like the pile of junk was going to fall over or anything – he was far too careful for that.

Eventually Munkustrap managed to wrestle the object free, falling over from the force of his body pulling the item free. He looked at the item in his paw and saw a broken toy that had once belonged to a human child. He was quickly distracted, however, by that same creaking sound he'd heard moments ago growing louder and louder. He looked up and his eyes widened as he saw the tower of junk tumbling down towards him.

* * *

I could hear the sound of Munkustrap's paws as he drew nearer to me and I readied my claws, preparing myself in case he'd smelt my scent on the wind. I was quickly assured that my plan hadn't been foiled as he began rooting around in the junk, searching for something. I steadied myself again, savoring the delicious anticipation of the hunt.

I soon heard the pile of junk creaking and groaning and looked up. The pile was very unsteady now and I could see the items near the top swaying precariously. I backed away slowly, just to be cautious. I wasn't about to let anything ruin my plans.

Then the pile collapsed.

I stood there blinking as the junk came crashing down with a thunderous roar, falling directly where I assumed Munkustrap had been only moments before. I looked on as everything settled, expecting the grey tabby to leap out at me, having used the collapse as a distraction. But no such thing happened.

I couldn't quite believe what had happened. Munkustrap had foiled my plans, not by catching me or out matching me, but by managing to get himself killed before I could kill him.


End file.
